Most Saturday mornings in our house are the same. First of all, it is my favorite morning of the week. I wake up, knowing that we don’t have to rush out of the house for work or for school. Even if we have something on our agenda for the day, first thing in the morning is our time. Even with having the weekend to sleep a bit later, Hannah and I are the early risers in the family, so we are up at the crack of dawn. Whether it is because we just cannot lay in bed awake another minute, or the cats want to be fed, or the dog wants to play.
Once the animals are cared for, and the coffee is brewing, the next step is taking out the electric griddle. Time for pancakes which is our Saturday morning ritual. We heat it up, and get out all of the ingredients. Bisquick. Eggs. Milk. Vanilla. And create we do. She makes the batter, even cracking the eggs like a real pro. She likes her pancakes REALLY thick, so we never add any extra milk, just leave it really thick and gooey. Then, she has become a real talent in pouring that batter on the griddle, whether she is in the mood for mini cakes, or full size, or extra large. I have taught her that you wait for most of the air bubbles to be popped, to know that it is time to turn it over (as taught to me by my dad, a great pancake maker from way back), and then to not push down on them once you turn them over.
Then, she gets a pile on her plate, puts on her margarine, with sometimes syrup on the side, and dives in. I never eat them, or hardly ever, but I love to watch. Watch her prepare, watch her cook, then watch her enjoy her creations. It really is a sight to see.
This gift on a Saturday morning, most every Saturday morning, started out as a gift that I gave to her; that special treat that I would cook for her every weekend to celebrate her hard work from the week before; to show her how much I love and appreciate how well she does in all areas of her life. However, that gift has shifted in its shape and form and intent. Now, it has turned to a gift that we share, a few stolen moments in our busy lives, when the world and even the house, is still kind of quiet and still. An experience that we share as we both participate in this activity, her breaking the eggs, me adding the milk, her pouring the batter, me turning over the griddle cakes.
But, ultimately, this has become a gift that she is giving me, every Saturday when we make griddle cakes, or anything else that we do together. She gives me the gift of watching her change, grow, develop, and become independent on her own. From the time when she was three, and we would make cookies together, and I would have to teach her how to break an egg; to a Saturday morning when she makes the batter, makes the cakes, and enjoys them as well. I am learning, growing, appreciating, evolving…
and, gently and lovingly, letting go.